


Closeted

by inksheddings



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-15
Updated: 2005-10-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:04:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/pseuds/inksheddings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Closet sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closeted

** Closeted **

 

Before finally caving in and admitting that perhaps dating her wouldn’t be such a horrific experience, House had thought he’d known all there was to know about Cameron. He thought he’d created the perfect cubbyhole for her personality, her actions, her annoying perkiness. Admittedly, he’d been wrong. A little bit wrong, anyway, as he hadn’t had to dismiss all his notions about her. She was indeed punctual, meticulous, naive, and far too open with her emotions. House had been correct about all of that, but where he’d been mistaken was in believing that these characteristics made her weak. Oh, she had her weaknesses (who didn’t?) but that didn’t make her weak. Actually -- and oh, how he hated to admit it -- it made her honest. Not that she didn’t lie, as everyone lies, but she tried not to, and often didn’t even realize it when she did tell a whopper. She always thought she was being truthful and honest. House had to give her that much, which had eventually led to him tentatively giving her a second, a third, and a fourth thought. Now, when he wasn’t engrossed with deciphering his team’s current medical mystery, he was engrossed with deciphering her.

Sitting impatiently in Cameron’s living room, however, was not how Gregory House had expected to spend this evening. They’d now been on a handful of dates, and this was the first time she’d disappeared into her bedroom, apparently never to return. It was irritating, to say the least. She didn’t have the most comfortable couch, and he was stuck waiting on it. It’d been twenty minutes.

Should he be worried? She said she needed to “freshen up” (how fresh did she need to be at the start of a date?) before they left. Could she have injured herself with eyeliner? Had she gotten lost between the toilet and the shower curtain? If she took ten minutes more they’d be officially late for their dinner reservations. Not that he gave a damn whether they were on time or not, but Cameron was usually so damn punctual.

He thought about knocking, but decided that would be against his nature. Besides, he was peeved, and politeness and peevishness did not mix.

As he approached her bedroom door, cracked just a bit open, he could hear noises. So at least she wasn’t dead, unless her home wasn’t as immaculate as it appeared, and the rats were already at work on a early evening meal.

The noises, however, were not coming from the bathroom, where he had always assumed women went to “freshen up”, but from the closet.

The sounds of hangers being hurriedly shoved across the bar, low-volumed mutterings that sounded as peeved as he’d felt met his ears as he slowly approached the closet. House no longer felt peeved, however, only curious, amusedly so.

As the sounds from her closet were becoming decidedly more agitated, House thought that perhaps he should let her know he was there, but he didn’t. He walked on toward the ruckus in her closet, and carefully peered in through the walk-in’s open door. At the sight that greeted him, he wasn’t sure whether he regretted not making his presence known or whether he’d found religion and a merciful god to worship, but he kept his mouth shut.

Bra? Check. Matching panties? Uh-huh. Blue silk dress she’d answered the door wearing? Uhhhh ... no.

Her hair was still loose and wavy and luxurious around her shoulders, and her make-up was flawless, or at least he assumed it was. After all, he was having a difficult time looking at her face, as there was so much more territory for his eyes to roam than was usually displayed.

And roam he did, with his eyes, at least.

“Fuck!”

The unexpected expletive she’d uttered finally brought him out of his visual exploration of curves and planes and back to the aggravated expression on her face.

She drew in a deep breath and with her hands grasping the clothing bar, she exhaled loudly with frustration.

He stood and watched her, dumb and mesmerized and itchy.

A little voice, sounding annoyingly like Wilson -- _Wilson, get the fuck out of my head, this is neither the place nor time_ \-- told him he should slowly back away while he still had the chance, go back to the living room, sit down on the uncomfortable couch, and wait for Cameron like a good little date. Or at the least, he should attempt to make it back to the bedroom door, knock politely, and ask if she needed any help.

_Shut up, Wilson, I’m getting hard and you shall have no part of that!_

Amazingly, she still hadn’t noticed him, so engrossed in whatever the hell she was doing, and they probably could have gone on that way indefinitely as she continued muttering obscenities while frantically pushing through her hung up clothing. However, she was rather violently shoving the hangers aside in her pursuit of ... something ... and a red article slipped off its hanger and fell to the floor. Another curse and that did it. (Of course, it was the obscenities’ fault.)

Retrieving her lost article (he vaguely noted that not only was it red, but velvety), Cameron.  
Bent. Over.

House groaned. Quietly, of course. Yes, a quiet and completely appropriate groan under the circumstances. How much was a man supposed to stand, for crying out loud? But it was definitely a groan, and Cameron heard it and stood up rather swiftly, turning to face him at the same time and she lost her balance.

Well, now, his brain (his body, really) decided to be chivalrous and he fully entered the closet and grabbed her firmly around the waist, preventing her from joining the red number on the floor.

As she met his eyes, and he felt the warm skin under his fingers, he couldn’t help but wonder if chivalry had a damn thing to do with why he’d put his hands on her body.

Usually, House had no trouble thinking up witty verbal musings under any circumstances, but on this occasion, she saved him the trouble and spoke first.

“My dress ... a little perfume catastrophe. I’m trying to find something else to wear, something suitable, but ...”

As her words drifted off, he couldn’t help but think that the emerald green she currently wore, while not exactly plentiful, was suitable enough.

He also realized that he still hadn’t thought of any words to help him out of this eminently awkward situation. But maybe he didn’t need any. She was looking him straight in the eye, her hands lightly resting on his arms, and she wasn’t trying to cover up any of her exposed flesh. Her breathing seemed a little rapid, and her cheeks and chest were definitely flushed.

His hands still on her waist, he slowly turned her body so that she was facing her clothing again.

“Let’s see if I can help you, Cameron. If you’ve seen fit to make us late for our dinner reservation, I think I should at least have a say in what you wear -- or don’t wear, as the case may be.”

He heard her take a sharp breath, and he tightened his grip on her waist, pushing his hips forward so that his groin made contact with her rear end. Her hands flew up to grip the clothing bar, as she thrust her own hips back against him. The sound of plastic hangers clacking together wasn’t near loud enough to muffle the groan let loose from his throat.

Another groan? House thought he really needed to expand his repertoire of sexually aroused noises.

This was not how he’d ever pictured their first sexual encounter. He had imagined they’d make it to dinner first, and that a bed would eventually be involved. Or at least a futon, though neither of them actually owned a futon.

Still, he didn’t think he had a right to complain, as she welcomed his grinding pelvis with soft moans and a little grinding of her own.

Her upper body leaned forward, as she seemed determined to get their lower halves as close as possible, as close as his trousers and her panties would allow.

It felt good. So good, in fact, he was loathe to take this any farther, the slight fear of “too much, too soon” reverberating -- though quietly -- through his brain. Another part of him, however, found the fact that neither of them were completely undressed -- he was wearing shoes, for Christ’s sake -- all the more erotic, all the more dangerous. All the more hard to resist.

He watched as she removed her right hand from the clothing bar, and he expected to feel her fingers dig into his ass or his thigh at any moment, but the moment never arrived. Her backward thrusts, however, became stronger and she let her head lean back on his shoulder. He could now see a bit down her front, and her breasts jiggled as much as her lacy bra would allow. But the sight that undid him, that made him absolutely certain that this act was more decadent than anything they could have done with all of their clothes off -- or on a futon, for that matter -- was the sight of Cameron’s right hand down between her legs, the fingers invisible underneath the green fabric of her panties.

Oh God. She was getting herself off.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, not even a bit concerned with his rather inarticulate and uninventive reaction. What else could he say, honestly?

Never taking his eyes off the sight of her rhythmically working her clitoris, he began thrusting and rubbing in earnest, figuring if she was going to get off, then so was he.

Besides, as she’d apparently ruined her dress with a little unexpected spill, he may as well show his solidarity. He had an excellent dry cleaner, after all.

He removed his right hand from her hip and moved it on top of her own, though he left it over the fabric, just allowing himself to marvel in the sensation of her busy fingers moving beneath her panties, though the wetness seeping through to his fingers was driving him mad. He was tempted to remove his hand so he could smell and taste her, but before he could turn that thought into action, Cameron’s low moans turned loud and harsh and then he felt her body stiffen ever so slightly and underneath his hand her fingers went frantic, rubbing at her clit faster and he knew she was about to come and come hard, sooner than he would ever have expected. She nearly caused them both to lose their balance and join the red velvet on the closet floor as her body melted against his.

As she orgasmed, her loud moans turning into throaty breaths and whimpers, it was all the incentive he required to match the furious pace of her fingers with his hips and he let out a moan of his own (at least it wasn’t technically another groan, he did have a little variety after all) as he suddenly came. He tried not to squeeze his eyes shut so he could keep watching her, but he couldn’t help it, as he was sure his brain was going to explode along with his prick, and if he kept his eyes open bits of grey matter would surely ooze out, matching ... well, other oozing bodily fluids.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, he discovered that at some point, Cameron had turned to face him. Her eyes were hazy with the exertion of sex, and he also saw a little fear in them, but she covered that up with her words.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any clothes that would fit you, and I’m not sure your slacks are in any shape for an evening out.”

He didn’t really want to talk, he was still coming down from the high of, well, coming, and he had never been particularly good at afterglow, but that tinge of fear he’d glimpsed, he couldn’t allow that to cloud whatever turn their relationship was taking. Not after all the time and trouble they’d been through to get this far, and especially not after such an unexpected -- yet immensely delightful and appreciated -- ‘closeted’ encounter.

“I suppose, then, as our reservations are now shot to hell anyway, we should just have an evening in. Between your girl scout tendencies and my creative input, I’m sure we could whip up something passably culinary and just ...” he struggled for something witty and meaningful, but was at a loss. Well, she’d voiced her fears through her eyes, he supposed he could at least attempt to give his reassurance through his own.

Oh! And perhaps a kiss? Yes, that might help too, he supposed, as they hadn’t actually gotten around to one yet.

He leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against her own, and as he felt the slight tension in her body relax and she opened her mouth a bit, allowing his tongue to caress her own, he knew her fears were unfounded, and he’d make sure she knew it too.

In the closet or out of it, he’d make sure.

 

**End**


End file.
